Adventures in the Caucasus
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: CI5's adventures overseas don't go according to plan (in several chapters)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

CI5 didn't often venture abroad. Britain had its own share of home-grown problems to keep George Cowley busy. However, some of those problems fled abroad in the hope that the long fingers of the law wouldn't feel their collar. Abrahams was one such 'refugee'. He'd fled to the former Communist country of Sirenstan. It was just finding its new independent feet and was anxious to curry favour with the West. Why Abrahams had fled there was a mystery. As far as British intelligence and Interpol were concerned, the fugitive had no links with the country and it bordered no friendly nation either. To smooth the diplomatic waters, the gods on high decided that Major George Cowley was the man to bring Abrahams home. Operation Cowley was considered less official and less visible. Somehow, British diplomats had persuaded Sirenstan not only to allow Cowley and his two best men to enter the country but also to carry side arms to persuade Abrahams to leave quietly. No fuss, no diplomatic incident. All calm and gentle.

Just before the CI5 team left, Cowley got word that the security forces over there had captured Abrahams and were holding him ready for the handover. Intelligence reports hinted that Abrahams was screaming blue murder about human rights and illegal imprisonment. It seemed that even the iron fist of CI5 appeared a better option than whatever Sirenstan was threatening him with. Cowley took nothing for granted of course, but the op was looking increasingly like a 'jolly' - a quick handover then home.

The RAF flight was delayed for reasons unknown. When they eventually touched down at Dovsky Aerodrome near the capital those reasons became clearer by the minute. Sirenstan was sliding into anarchy already. The shiny new flag of independence was already tattered and bloody. Communist forces, still prominent in the country, were not happy at being sidelined by the Western-influenced ruling party and the riots were turning ugly. Cowley and his agents were met by harried officials at the airfield and taken rapidly through the streets of the city by car. The dark night was lit up with flares and burning tyres. The smell of acrid smoke choked the capital. Yells and chanting could be heard streets away. The driver turned on the radio but even the sound of Bach couldn't drown out the sound of a city tearing itself apart. The driver tried to avoid the conflict areas but the lines were shifting all the time. Roads were blocked either deliberately by one side or another, or by debris and burning cars. The chauffeur and passengers remained quiet until they reached their destination. Silently and quickly the driver opened the car doors for them and they were escorted hastily through a very ornate building - the Ministry of Justice. Eventually they were shown into an opulent office where a thin, tall officer in uniform greeted them. A translator was in attendance. After tea and preliminaries, Abrahams was summoned. He looked as though he'd gone a few rounds with a heavyweight champ. His clothes were torn and bloody, as was his face. He limped in. Through the translator, it was explained to the prisoner that he was free to go - as far as Sirenstan was concerned - and Major Cowley and his operatives were here to ensure that he got a safe passage. Cowley didn't know how much Abrahams was aware of events outside or whether he'd try to give them the slip. He'd brought handcuffs just in case the man got any odd ideas.

The small party was led back through the opulent lobby. As soon as they were shown through the door and down the steps to their car, all hell broke loose. The insurgents had reached the Ministry. The car they had been driven in was on fire. Molotovs and rocks were thrown towards the building. The party retreated. Cowley still had firm hold of Abrahams. This was just the sort of chaos he could use to his advantage. To their horror they found that the great doors had been locked on them. Whoever was just inside had clearly assessed the situation and barricaded themselves in. Cowley knew that it was futile to waste precious seconds trying to persuade those inside to open up, so looked around for their driver to guide them to safety. However it didn't take a moment to see that the chauffeur had fled. His own skin was much more precious to him than these foreigners. The men swore. Cowley took hold of the situation and led his men quickly round the back of the building. They had no idea where they were going or where sanctuary lay. Cowley had been given the address of the British Embassy but he had no idea where it was amongst this madness. They were running ahead of the pack now and taking increasingly narrow lanes, the better hide in shadows. They were hindered by Abrahams who was not as fit as they and the injury to his leg or ankle was slowing him down. He was panting hard and his limp was getting worse. They took a breather inside a park. There were bushes there where they could hide if necessary. To the men's surprise, Cowley took out a map of the city. 'X' marked the Embassy spot. He handed the creased sheet to Bodie.

"Any ideas?" he asked.

Bodie studied the map in the dark, with Doyle looking over his shoulder. The map was in the Cyrillic alphabet and if there was an Embassy to aim for, and the Ministry they'd just left, it was too obscure to decipher. Bodie shrugged despairingly. Somehow he felt he was letting his boss down; he should know the answer. Staying put till daylight was too risky. They could be overrun at any moment. Not speaking the language was always going to be a problem. Where could they run? Where was sanctuary? Bodie was pleased that he may have a solution as they gazed round anxiously at the burning ruins around them, the chanting of the mob close by somewhere in the darkness.

"That looks like a hotel, sir," he said, pointing to an ornate building with lights at most of its windows reflected in the inky waters of the river.

Cowley agreed that it was a possibility and they weren't overflowing with other options. The rebels were snapping at their heels and the building wasn't far away. They kept to the shadows as much as possible, pausing now and then to listen to the crowd and how far away they seemed. Now that they were nearer to their destination, it looked like Bodie was right. They just needed to cross the open square now. All was quiet in their small world. They made a run for it. Unfortunately the mob broke through, with the government opposition emerging from the other side. The CI5 team were trapped in the middle. The rebels had swapped their improvised weapons of rocks and Molotovs for guns. The party ran for their lives as bullets rained down around them. Abrahams' limp suddenly improved as he realised that his life was at stake as never before. He was even gaining on Cowley, who still had firm hold of him. They almost reached the steps of the hotel, hoping that that too wouldn't be barricaded, when Abrahams fell. Cowley came down on top of him. The mob had reached them. Cowley recovered and dragged his charge up the steps as Doyle and Bodie swirled on their heels towards the crowd and tried to surrender, yelling that they were English.

Bodie dredged up some German, "Wir sind Englisch!_"_

This seemed to have some effect on a few of the crowd, as they held back in confusion. At that moment of indecision, a tank and some army jeeps thundered into the square to back up the government forces. The insurgents decided that they had bigger fish to fry and a more deadly enemy to pursue than these foreigners. Water cannon was instantly turned on the rebels. Bodie and Doyle used the confusion to head back to the hotel door. Cowley and Abrahams had disappeared and the door was barred. The men hoped that Cowley had found sanctuary there. Although the pair were armed, it had been made absolutely clear to them that they were only to use their weapons in extreme emergencies and only then, it was inferred, to aim them at Abrahams not the Sirenstanis! The rebels were brave in their madness and turned on the armed vehicles despite being outgunned. The bloody battle could only go one way. Eventually they began to disperse into the darkness, no doubt to regroup and find more weapons and ammunition. As they left they lobbed a few well-aimed Molotovs at the army and managed to set the tank on fire. The CI5 agents watched the battle while scouting desperately for somewhere to hide when they saw the tank go up in flames with a whumph and a triumphant cheer from the insurgents.

"They'll fry alive!" Doyle yelled, heading instantly towards the burning vehicle.

"No! Stop!" Bodie screamed as he raced behind his partner towards the burning tank.

This was none of their business. It wasn't what they were here for. But Doyle was deaf to anyone around him. He cast round urgently for anything that would help dowse the flames; the military were doing the same. They'd found a hose from the water cannon and were fixing it to a hydrant. The process seemed to take too much time. Doyle grabbed the business end of the hose instantly and stuffed it into Bodie's hands.

"Cover me!" he yelled.

Confused, Bodie reached for his gun and then realised what Doyle meant. The hose writhed in his hands like a living thing as the water gained pressure. Bodie aimed the hose at his mate and at the tank. Doyle allowed himself to get thoroughly soaked before quickly jumping up onto the side. The metal was burningly hot but Doyle managed to open the hatch.

"Get out!" he screamed.

The men inside were confused at a foreign voice and a foreign order hurled at them, but their instinct took control and they poured out of the hatch in panic, Bodie drenching them as they rolled through the flames and onto the ground, their comrades helping them as they hit the tarmac.

"Schnell! Schnell!" Doyle screamed, reaching for the only word he could remember from the war films he'd seen as the last of the men scrambled from their flaming tomb.

The soldiers didn't need a translation; they were out of there in a moment. The mob had returned far more quickly than anyone had thought, and were armed to the teeth. A staccato of bullets joined the noise of battle nearby. One of the military helping Bodie with the hose went down and, to Bodie's horror, Doyle disappeared over the far side of the tank. Bodie immediately dropped the hose and turned to find his mate but was struck in the face by a lump of rock hurled in a general direction by the insurgents. He instantly fell to his knees in pain as a bullet whizzed over his head. He heard a groan behind him as it made contact, followed the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. The counter-fire from the army nearly deafened him. Bodie dragged himself to a crouch and abandoned his station as he ran round the side of the vehicle, a soldier following in his wake. Doyle was flat out. Bodie grabbed his mate's collar and, helped by the army, dragged Doyle quickly away from the burning tank. The mob had begun to retreat again, firing as they did so, threatening to return for a further bout, leaving their dead and injured colleagues in the town square.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bodie hadn't time for sightseeing or tending to those dead and wounded from either or both sides. His military training knew when the mental bugle of retreat was sounding. Soldiers bundled Bodie and Doyle into a military lorry along with their injured colleagues. The van lumbered off. Bodie could see little in the darkness as he found a space on the narrow bench, pressed up against a crowd of men. He could hear heavy breathing and someone chanting. It sounded like praying. There were moans from some of the wounded lying on the floor. There was nothing anyone could do to ease their suffering. There was too little light to see by, too little space, and the lorry was bucking and swaying erratically, sending them sliding this way and that as though in a macabre dance that no-one could stop. Bodie wasn't sure whether the driver knew where he was going. Everything seemed to be happening at super-speed. Bodie wondered whether he should admit that he was a foreigner. As he didn't know how this would be received, he kept quiet and worried about Ray and Cowley. Suddenly there was a yell and Bodie's comrades threw themselves to the floor, mindless of the casualties at their feet. Bodie didn't need a translator. He automatically followed suit. Almost immediately a rain of bullets tore through the canvas walls of the lorry. He could feel their hot passage singing by his ear. The volley didn't last long, but the men remained where they were despite their more injured companions howling in agony. Somehow the driver kept going. Bodie wasn't sure whom he was lying on top of but he was sure that his weight wasn't doing the man much good. He tentatively reached out to feel for Doyle. His hand brushed against some rough material. He liked to think that it was Doyle's denim jeans. He drew comfort from that. After several minutes, Bodie felt that the danger had passed but his comrades were making no move to regain their seats, so Bodie made himself (and the man he was lying on) more comfortable and found a small piece of floor to squeeze into without crushing anyone else. His face felt on fire and he wondered how much damage the rock had done to his eye. After some time the van slowed. It hit a deep pothole, which sent everyone sliding towards the cab and back towards the door again, and then the lorry righted itself and continued its lumbering way. Bodie heard a man sobbing in pain very close by. He wished fervently that he could do something. Eventually the lorry stopped altogether. There was a muffled conversation outside, a grating of metal and then lorry was on the move again. A very bright light strafed the interior as they went along and Bodie managed a brief look at the men around him. He was satisfied that he'd glimpsed a very recognisable curly head a few feet in front of him. Ray was still with him.

The lorry stopped again and the tailboard was taken down. Several military doctors reached up to take the casualties. They'd brought stretchers. Bodie was glad to get out of the claustrophobic interior and stretch his legs and breathe some fresh cold night air. It was quieter out here - wherever the 'here' was. Clearly it was away from the chaos of the burning city. Bodie again kept quiet about his nationality and waited till Doyle had been lifted out. He was still unconscious - at least Bodie hoped it was that. He made sure that he took the role of stretcher-bearer and soon found himself in what looked like a military hospital. The men were momentarily blinded by the white light of fluorescent tubes and had to be guided by their more able escorts. Eventually Bodie could squeeze open his good eye a little and take in the corridor they were briskly walking down. The smell of disinfectant was very familiar, as was the clipped military gait of his fellow porters. They veered off to a side room where Doyle was quickly dragged onto an examination couch. Only now could Bodie see the damage. He went cold at the amount of blood on his friend's sodden clothing. The stretcher-bearers left to attend to other duties and Bodie was left adrift. The doctors didn't take any notice of him and he tried to be invisible. They immediately found Doyle's gun and there was a brief conversation about it. It was clear that it wasn't regular Sirenstani army issue. However, there were more pressing matters and they put the mystery to one side. As they cut away Doyle's clothing Bodie could get a better look at the injury - a gun shot to the shoulder. The doctors lifted their patient to one side, looking for an exit wound. Bodie couldn't see from where he was whether they found one. They then prepared him for surgery. Bodie didn't want to delay them by announcing himself so followed the gurney silently to the theatre where he had to allow his mate to disappear under the ministrations of the military surgeons. The casualty doctors looked at Bodie in puzzlement as though noticing him for the first time. One of the doctors said something - it sounded like a question - and pointed to his cheek bone. Bodie understood that they wanted to treat his injury. He just shook his head and turned away. Declaring himself was too complicated right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bodie wondered how he could retrieve Doyle's gun and was wandering back to the side room he'd recently left when he was waylaid by a soldier who seemed to be asking him something and didn't look too pleased. Bodie knew that he'd have to confess at some point and it might as well be now. He told the man in German his nationality. The soldier looked confused. He hadn't been given instructions for this eventuality. The men sized each other up. Bodie got fed up and made to push past the soldier. The man deliberately stood in Bodie's way. He drew his rifle from off his shoulder to emphasise his point, and his authority.

"I don't want trouble," Bodie said in English, raising his palms in 'surrender'.

The soldier stopped a doctor going about his business and there was a brief conversation. The doctor nodded and carried on. Bodie thought he'd heard the word 'ingelski', which may be translated as 'English'. This rough assumption didn't get him very far though and the two men continued their stand-off. There was an announcement on a tannoy that also seemed to include 'ingelski'. Soon a young lad in uniform turned up looking very shy and embarrassed. He didn't look old enough to be in regular uniform. Perhaps he belonged to a cadet school.

"I speak English," the man-boy said. "My name is Ivor Ivanovich."

Translating the soldier's words, Ivor said that the soldier wanted to know Bodie's name and his business.

"Tell him," Bodie retorted, "that I'll only speak to his superior officer."

Ivor blushed down to the roots of his blond hair. Bodie wondered if they had a firing squad in this country. The soldier barked at the boy, clearly wanting to know what Bodie had said. With dreadful hesitancy, Ivor translated. The soldier aimed his gun at Bodie again. He was furious at this foreign upstart. At that point a senior officer came on the scene, alerted and intrigued by the tannoyed request for a translator. The soldier shouldered his gun and stood rapidly to attention. The officer clearly wanted to know what was going on and the soldier, while gazing at a fixed point in the distance, gave his side of things. Ivor wasn't asked to translate. After he'd finished, the official looked Bodie up and down.

"On whose authority are you here?"

"Supreme Counsellor Ilyanovich, sir."

The officer's eyes widened and even the soldier took a shocked look at Bodie before resuming his intense fascination for the wall in front of him.

"And who the hell are you?" (The man-boy had trouble translating that one.)

Bodie gave his name and showed the officer his letter of authority. As he drew it out, the man couldn't help noticing his gun. The boy had noticed it too but said nothing. The officer took his time - as those in authority do the world over - in reading and re-reading the official letter.

"You are well connected, Mr Bodie. Who is this Major George Cowley and where is Mr Raymond Doyle?"

Bodie answered both questions and then asked permission to search for Major Cowley.

"You will remain here and we will search for you. I presume you also want us to find Mr Samuel Abrahams?" The sarcasm was clear.

Bodie bit back a caustic come-back. If he wanted to find Cowley he'd better get on the right side of this man. So he explained where he'd last seen Cowley and added that they'd been trying to reach the British Embassy before they were separated, but Major Cowley wasn't sure where it was without a guide and escort. Bodie had expected a snide remark or a knowing smirk, but the officer took in the information and nodded thoughtfully.

"We will let you know as soon as possible what we find, Mr Bodie. Meanwhile, take Ivan here and get your face fixed."

"Thank you, sir," Bodie said, squaring himself to attention, which went down well with the military mind as Bodie had hoped it would.

The man strode off, the soldier still stared at the opposite wall as though he hadn't noticed that the senior presence had now left, and Bodie retraced his steps back to the casualty station. He saw a different doctor and got Ivan to ask about Doyle's gun. This was handed over and Bodie persuaded Ivan to stay while he got his face attended to. The doctor didn't think that the cheek bone was fractured and an ophthalmologist was called to check Bodie's eye. Fortunately it was eventually decided that, with a dressing over it to rest it, his eye should be back to normal in a few days when the swelling had gone down. He was given some pain killers.

Man and boy left the casualty department and Bodie asked Ivan to take him to the surgical ward. He explained why. On asking, a nurse consulted her notes and said that a bullet had been dug out of Doyle's shoulder and the surgery had gone well. He should recover. Bodie was more relieved than he realised. He went in to see his mate, Ivor forgotten for the moment. The large ward held perhaps thirty male patients. Doyle was rigged up to a plasma bag. His hands were bandaged (Bodie had forgotten that Doyle would also be suffering from burns) and his shoulder and chest were covered in dressings and bandages. Bodie touched his friend's arm. The skin was frozen. He asked the nurse if his mate could have another cover. He was only wrapped in a sheet and a very thin army-issue blanket. It seemed ironical that Ray should be treated for burns if only to die of hyperthermia. The duty nurse shouted an order across to a colleague and turned back to this very handsome man in front of her. She blushed as Bodie helped her tuck Doyle in when the blanket arrived, deliberately brushing against her hands. It was just the kind of diversion Bodie needed after a hard day. The nurse eventually tore herself away and he was left alone again. As he sat down, he felt suddenly drained of energy. He knew that shock was finally catching up with him. He looked round and found the boy still dutifully at his post.

"Ivor, is there anywhere here where I can have a rest and something to eat?"

Ivor showed Bodie to the canteen. Various uniforms sat around eating, chatting and smoking. There were easy chairs and couches as well as dining tables and chairs. There was even a dart board in one corner. All surfaces, it seemed, were littered with cigarette stubs, ash and dirty crockery. Things were done very differently here. Ivor helped Bodie choose his meal and told him that it was all free. The pair helped themselves to what was on offer - not a great choice and it all looked tepid and greasy - but it would have to do. Ivor tucked in with such enthusiasm that Bodie wondered what the lad's usual diet was at home. They talked of this and that, Bodie wanting to distract his mind from worrying about Doyle and Cowley, and Bodie learnt quite a bit about the country and Ivor's place in it. They both avoided discussing politics and what was happening in the country right now. Bodie swallowed a couple of pain killers and Ivor led him to a Mess room. Through the fug of cigarette smoke, Bodie could see men in civvies and in various uniforms lolling around. They took no notice of the newcomers. Ivor showed him to a bunk bed. Bodie felt very vulnerable, but the pain killers were already kicking in and Bodie thanked Ivor for his services. He slipped him a few krona discreetly and Ivor's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Bodie wondered just how much money he'd actually given the lad!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was several hours later before Bodie emerged into the world again. He felt very woolly-headed and wondered just what had been in those tablets. He looked round for Ivor but he wasn't in sight. Bodie hadn't really expected him to be but was disappointed all the same. Again, no-one took any notice of him. He had a cold wash and retraced his steps to the surgical ward. A different nurse was on duty. As Bodie took his place at the bedside, he noticed that the standard issue chair was as hard as those in England. It wasn't long before Doyle stirred. Bodie tried not to rush him, but was anxious to have his friend by his side again. He was getting tired of being alone in a foreign country, battling bureaucracy and language; fatigue and fear. Eventually Doyle focussed and was relieved that Bodie had survived the riots and was at his side.

"Where am I?" he slurred.

"Army hospital."

"England?" Doyle asked hopefully, though a quick scan along the ward suggested otherwise.

"You should be so lucky, sunshine."

"What happened to your face? Did someone gave you a black eye?" Doyle was concerned that Bodie had got into some very non-diplomatic hand-to-hand stuff while he was somersaulting off the tank.

"No. Head-butted some masonry."

Doyle nodded, as though this was quite normal for his mate. "Any news of Cowley?" was Doyle's next anxious question.

Bodie explained that a senior Sirenstani officer was looking for him. Doyle put into words the fear that Bodie was hiding.

"Do you think he will? They've got a lot on at the moment."

Bodie shrugged. "We haven't got a lot of choice have we, sunshine?" he commented sadly.

The men looked at each other quietly. Doyle was beginning to doze off when something behind Bodie suddenly got his attention. Bodie turned round and looked into the face of a haggard Cowley.

"Sir!" Bodie gasped, rising to meet his boss. He didn't try to disguise his relief or the grin splitting his face.

Cowley smiled back. "Glad you remember me."

Bodie looked sheepish. "I was a bit tied up sir, and the language …"

"Aye, well, here I am. And I've got something to say to you two." Cowley's mood and tone changed from badinage to his usual gruffness. "How do you explain this?" he asked, reaching into his trench coat and throwing down a newspaper on the bed.

Bodie gathered it up. He couldn't read the headline (one word) but clearly recognised the photo. It showed the tank lit up against the night sky of a world torn apart and in flames. It showed Bodie clearly silhouetted against this backdrop with a hosepipe in his hand, water gushing to dowse the flames. Above him, on the tank, was Doyle looking like a fire god summoning his demons. It was a very powerful photo and one that would no doubt earn the photographer a great deal of money and accolades. Bodie tossed the paper to Doyle.

"You couldn't recognise us …"

"What were our orders?" Cowley asked rhetorically. "Bring out Abrahams quietly and discreetly. Tell me, gentlemen, what is quiet and discreet about this, this …?" Cowley ran out of adjectives.

"We couldn't …"

"I am still speaking, Doyle," Cowley rumbled, though his men had thought that he'd ground to a halt. They weren't that lucky. "No doubt this will be in all the international papers as well." As Cowley drew breath, he noticed a young lad standing quietly in the shadows. "Who's this?"

"This is Ivor, sir," Bodie explained. "He's been translating for me."

The men didn't know how long Ivor had been there, or how much of the conversation he had understood.

"Thank you, Ivor," Cowley said sincerely. "I'm glad that someone's been looking after these two."

Ivor smiled uncertainly.

"Come on," he barked to his agents, making Ivor jump. "I can't wait around here all day gossiping, there's a plane waiting for us." Cowley turned to leave, expecting his men to follow him. They didn't dare ask about Abrahams - or the lack of his presence.

"Sir," Doyle called from his sick bed. Cowley turned back. Doyle looked very embarrassed. "Er, well, I've got nothing to wear, sir."

Cowley raised a surprised eyebrow - his only sign of wonton emotion.

"You mean you're starkers?!" Bodie grinned, enjoying Doyle's embarrassment.

"I think even you can grasp that much, can't you?" Cowley snapped. "You were there, man. What have the staff done with his clothes?"

"They had to cut him out of them, sir."

Doyle and Cowley looked frustrated. Cowley, as usual, took the lead. "Ivor, come with me lad. I've a job for you." Man and boy wandered off.

Bodie turned serious as he watched them disappear. Cowley had his arm around the young lad's shoulders. "I think he'd have made a great dad," he commented wistfully.

Doyle was surprised. "You could always get yourself adopted!"

Bodie broke his gaze away as the pair disappeared from view. He sighed as he drew himself back to the here and now and turned to practicalities to divert his mind.

"I don't know when the Cow will be back Doyle, but I'll try to find you something to eat."

"Stop fussing."

But Doyle was glad that Bodie was distracted from his nakedness and he was starving after all.

.

"Sorry, mate. This was all they had," Bodie said when he eventually returned.

He had a bowl of something that he handed to Doyle, who'd shuffled himself painfully into a sitting position. Bodie fished a spoon out of one pocket, and a hunk of bread from another. He handed both to Doyle who was trying to balance the bowl on his lap.

"Do you need help?" Bodie offered seeing his friend struggling with bandaged hands.

"What the 'ell's this?" Doyle complained, lifting a spoonful up and letting the revolting liquid fall back into the bowl.

"Somewhere between soup and stew I guess." Doyle looked at him angrily. "There was nothing else, honest."

Doyle bravely tried a spoonful and screwed up his eyes as the liquid slid down his throat. "Salt and pig fat. That's what that is," Doyle declared, offering the bowl back to Bodie.

Bodie looked around to see what he could do with the stuff now that he'd brought it. An old man in the next bed was watching keenly. Bodie got up and offered the food in his best German. The man gratefully took the soup off him, not caring if Bodie were speaking German or Swahili. He tucked in with great relish. Bodie wondered when the man had last had a meal - and what the retirement age was in the armed forces round here. He returned to Doyle's bed. He was manfully trying to chew his way through the heel of bread. Bodie wandered off to find a cup of tea to help it down. He missed Ivor.

The doctor had been given instructions to detach his foreign patient from the plasma bag that was doing him so much good. He was going home, that was the main thing. The doctor was relieved, but worried for the man's health all the same as he rebandaged his patient's hand and packed up the IV feed. Doyle was asleep when Cowley arrived with Ivor and some clothes. Cowley didn't hesitate in shaking Doyle's leg violently. Doyle prised his eyes open.

"Here, put these on. They're all we could find. Where's Bodie?"

"Dunno," Doyle slurred, trying to wake himself up. Would he ever get any peace?

"Find him," Cowley ordered, and the boy marched off.

"He's only a kid sir," Doyle gently protested as he tried to get the trousers on under the bedclothes.

"Do you need help?" Cowley asked reluctantly, turning his back on his agent.

"I can manage," Doyle gasped.

The pain in his injured hands had returned tenfold as he grappled with the flies. Eventually satisfied, Doyle swung his legs off the bed and his head seemed to rotate and his shoulder wound sent shockwaves through his body. He waited for a few moments to recover before tackling the shirt. In the end, Cowley had to help him with the buttons. He was easing his man into the jacket when Ivor and Bodie turned up. Doyle slid his feet into the shoes. They were the only items that fitted him. He looked lost in the oversized clothes. He didn't ask where Cowley had got them.

"You never could wear clothes," Bodie commented, shaking his head sadly.

"They're not your cast-offs are they?" Doyle countered.

"We do have a plane to catch," Cowley reminded them.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As they left the hospital, Cowley formally shook Ivor's hand and thanked him warmly for his help. Bodie joined in and said he couldn't have managed without him. Cowley slipped the lad a few bob and, again, the boy looked delighted. He looked slyly at Bodie, wondering if he was going to rat on him. Bodie returned the smile and tapped the side of his nose. It seemed to be an international gesture and one that Ivor understood. His cache of money from Bodie was a secret between them. Ivor looked relieved. Doyle, too, thanked him as they left. Ivor quickly turned on his heels and returned to his duties at the hospital - whatever they may have been before CI5 had interrupted him. Bodie and Doyle took the back seat of a shiny Merc and Cowley up front. Bodie, crushed against Doyle's side, noticed that his friend was shivering. He was wearing next to nothing, and the day was turning sleety. When had Bodie become the worrying sort?! The driver tiptoed through the remnants of the city, still smouldering like a derelict pub at the end of a long and rowdy party. The insurgents had left and the army was still around looking angry and spoiling for another fight. Well, that was their show. CI5 weren't part of this any more. Sirenstan would need to mature in its own way as a child must grow up, go through the teenage tantrum stage, and emerge - hopefully - at the other end as a balanced and mature individual.

When they arrived back at the aerodrome, both agents were asleep on each other's shoulder. Cowley and the driver opened a door each and the shocking chill wind had the desired effect of waking them up. They staggered up the steps into the RAF plane. They felt that they had failed spectacularly in bringing Abrahams home. Cowley would get it in the neck from his superiors and, of course, Cowley would then take it out on them. They were in for a hard time when they got home and for some time to come. However, as they were shown into the interior by an RAF officer, they saw Abrahams handcuffed to a seat with an officer standing guard over him. The agents tried not to look surprised as Cowley took a seat next to the man and cuffed themselves together as the guard retreated. Bodie and Doyle were shown to seats behind the Cow and allowed a glance to pass between them. Somehow the cat had got the cream. They should have known. Bodie would like to bet that Cowley had been dying for one of them to ask about Abrahams and had known that they had been too scared to. Both of them knew that the Cow would have a very smug look on his face just at that moment.


End file.
